Best Haziness Poems
life is a guesthouse,
no one overstays their welcome.
As background music
slowly muffles into softer tones,
breaths struggle to appease.
Deep painful faint sighs,
fall like crumbling leaves -
I'm vulnerable like a naked tree.
Autumnal eyes gaze
towards my looming winter garden.
Heart is a paper bag of emotions,
now full of leftover crumbs -
where spring once merged with summer petals.
Mind is a vague collection of
recollections and reflections -
forgotten memories, unfulfilled promises,
words lost in silence.
Destiny tested with her games.
I am still a humble child,
with no care for winning, nor losing -
settling for her stalemate.
Regret is that untraveled path,
not following the signs - reluctant
to feast from the garden of her Eden -
pondering if it was worth the sin.
Now
so many watery eyes,
resonate like violin tears.
Brown, green and blue -
but I do not see hers.
Motionless with shivers and chills,
Lights are dimming, silence is manifesting.
In haziness, silhouettes appear,
as life begins to disappear -
I can barely hear the music.
Our life is a poem,
each beat of our hearts a drop of ink.
Some leave behind words,
some blank pages.
Simple Musing
Silent One
20 September 2020
My harshest critic is the mirror,
Revealing to me...I haven't moved on.
My life has no current of happiness,
Just a stagnant still pond.
I dwell in a lonely atmosphere,
Though surrounded by numerous friends.
I feel the happiness...I once had,
Has came to an untimely end.
A numbness in my emotions,
The haziness never gets clearer.
It's now what people say about me,
My harshest critic is the mirror.
elysian
adorned with faultless time-dream
bits of insight
trigger dim emotions
memory gives warmness
spooky how light needs
haziness to thrive
drew me away from
odyssey I cling to
Inner peace exists in the sky
awaken the sun
egg-yellow in tone
In the midst of
oceanic aurora with blue shells
Half bleared-eye
embraced in soul stance
of shrewdness
as though prevail
intertwined
In a vast ocean of you
forgotten rootless
cast to the verge
we each
without lacking land
Written: June 24, 2022
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
dodoitsu series (rhymed)
Winter is taking the reins
speeding past days of autumn -
Jack Frost smears the windowpanes
forefingers and thumb.
You who have no house to own,
too proud to seek charity,
you choose your path all alone
that’s a guarantee.
Your attic room, where risks run
rowdy as the eastern winds,
barren refuge while you shun
warmer help from friends.
Churches serve a daily meal
without impugning censure,
Would a shelter prove to shield
Christian adventure?
God casts no smears. You must know
you are short more than your needs.
God produces once you show
you will plant His seeds.
Twixt four fingers and your thumb
winnow pangs of laziness.
Earn warm lodging ere autumn’s
freeze spawns haziness.
for Elly Wouterse's contest 3 Proverbs and a Quote
For my series of didactic "germane" dodoitsu, I chose three German proverbs, being influenced much in my life by my German grandmother.
-A poor person isn't he who has little, but he who needs a lot.
--Charity sees the need not the cause.
---God gives, but man must open his hand.
My quote from an international celebrity is from German poet, Rainer Maria Rilke -
“Whoever has no house now, will never have one. Whoever is alone will stay alone,” is from his poem, “Autumn Day”, translated by Stephen Mitchell.
https://audiopoetry.wordpress.com/category/poet/rainer-maria-rilke/
For word play:
“the four fingers and your thumb”, and “winnow pangs” of verse 5(6) play off of
“Jack Frost’s forefingers and thumb” and "window panes" of verse 1.
Word with two meanings:
Verse 1 – smear – v. to wipe or daub
Verse 4 (5) – smear – n. a slur or insult
double meaning proverb
A poor person isn't he who has little, but he who needs a lot.
poor person can mean poverty-stricken or a
poor person can be incompetent, inept
I used the normal 7, 7, 7, 5 syllable pattern of a dodoitsu but rhymed it ABAB. I really needed 24 lines to complete my thoughts, but I dutifully cut it back to 20 lines, adding it back in italics after contest was judged. Expanding on Rilke’s “Autumn Day” title, I took a different turn from his prayerful, more positive piece.
Good morning
A kind of high intensity light
Of the scorching sun white
And eyes in dry state tide
Trying to open in haziness
But as the laziness
Overpower the body logic
And seems lethargic
In every sense
Like a sense organ tense
Goining again to sleeps
If enthusiam not there it weeps
Finally it rejuvenate and open again keeps
With a new piece of thought light
And start its twilight
Spring tints convey,
a piece of paradise.
The sky is cloudless,
alongside soaring birds.
Shards of haziness
toss stars without a tune.
This ends my message,
seek delight in times of strife.
1ST PLACE CONTEST WINNER
Written: April 06, 2022
A BRIAN STRAND STANDARD Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Reminiscing the threshold in infinity,
I seek the dimension of our curiosity,
Invisible threads then form,
In the making of an invincible bridge in that storm...
Haziness, vivid and incomplete bliss,
Where threesome snake of love nastily hisses,
On the golden neck, I plant those kisses,
Where the heartbeats from the niche hitches...
Nights of dipped melancholy,
Pens won't turn impeccably,
Hallucinations of holding fingers steadily,
Waking up from this dream and facing the reality...
I I
Timid and broken wings,
The feeble pegion smiles and sings,
The pain in ankle continues to sting,
From beak, falls an abandoned ring,
Which the pegion shoves,
When my soul floats in the dead pegion,
Beak breaks to smile and and looks at the flying dove!
No one knows his name…
He is a villain though his back looks pitiful
because he walks with a limp; nevertheless, to hide his complex—one leg is shorter than the other, he bathes with innocent blood and quenches his thirst with the breath a malignant spirit exhaled.
He dethroned his father to gain power.
He devoured his own offspring to satisfy his insatiable appetite.
He chopped ‘Present’ off with an axe sharpened with a stone
named ‘Past,’ and stamped on it with his limping leg, to make sure
that uncertain ‘Future’ would never be able to germinate.
You who survived today somehow,
should go to bed with the prayer for tomorrow as the sun goes down.
People step out from their homes with hope because the sun rises.
They get to their work place to earn a day’s living. They step into the manmade order, the gears, and after all the day’s skidding and crushing in the gears with missing teeth
they stop by a tavern, on the way home to relieve the day’s stresses,
where the glasses of booze are filled with drifting ripples.
It may be a blessed moment.
For ‘Present’ is granted in a light-headed haziness
from a few shots of whiskey; they see distorted yesterdays
and twisted tomorrows, and as the happy mood deepens
the comets with long tails crossing the skies fall into the little universe;
the glasses they hold in their hand.
As stars fall,
the limping Cronus hurriedly enters the tavern
and brandishes the axe to chop the happy drunkards’ heads off,
because he was left out in cold by the drunkards, who were in a happy mood.
Note: 1. Titan Cronus and personified chronos-time, are used as synonym 2. Cf: Goya. Saturn [Cronus] devouring one of his children
The man must be a fool or an extra prudent who
Spreads around teaching that silence is gold
It has in it the real meaning of the world
And wise are those who keep silence when all around there is chaos
And advocates people to listen more and talk less
As in listening less risk is involved
And more opportunity of gaining it provides
Overlooking the precious art of talking
Even he goes on claiming that silence speaks volumes
Never taking into account that even in preaching the merits of silence
He uses words; he speaks a lot and creates numerous sounds
The paradox is amusing
But it turns poison to those who need support at the time of their troubles
In the time of oppression they all need is your voice
Your rising voice could frighten a dictator
Even a clamour could drive away a wrong doer
Let alone to those who are dying to hear your hello
When a silence admirer goes around provoking us to be silent
He forgets one thing more
That is the basic principle of life that teaches us that
Every situation of life has its levels, stages, steps and angles
To rise up to reach to its point of zenith
Or to go down to the its point of nadir
There are many steps to cross to understand a single point
Many stages has a single event to pass through
To realise its cause of occurrence
And that mono cause might have many angles to look at it to get a real shot
Let alone the metamorphosing phases of a single issue to talk about
Moreover, each mind has its own order
To reflect upon the essence of realization
In the higher order of prudence the screen demands to us
To reveal our thoughts
To give a clear the picture of life at the time of troubling haziness.
This is for the lack, the journey on the way back.
Trying to find a place that once felt like home.
A poem to keep me around so I don't roam.
To see if anybody out there was keeping track.
I walked out into the fog thinking this was it.
No where left to turn without getting hit.
Each step was heavier than the last.
The haziness inside my heart was heavily cast.
Now you know so long ago that I was scared as hell.
To find myself here today answering the toll of the bell.
The fog has lifted and I think that I see clear.
But I'm still not too sure just where I should steer.
The path beyond the journey is only for the grave.
The frightened soul win's only if they are brave.
Fantasy is store bought praise, nary worth a dime.
Staring life right in the face, I think that it is time.
In the ultimate I ponder and resonates
Sporadic melancholy treading thoughts
Void pneumatic aspirations that perspire in nothingness
The peripheral space spurts erratic waves
Spewed fantasy and ejaculates conglomeration
Palpitation of erroneous premature baby
That which is not flushed down is a street arching
Vivid escapades flowed sluggish and sticky
Unwinding terrestrial route it’s a dead end
Never to end but in illusion
Ruminates and castigated spits vomits
Miasma inhalation that draws petrified lunatics
Kindled joyful cleave less than platonic
Lost in haziness of pleasurable moments causing love anguish
Thrusting Warm Velvet labial interior
Sensuousness mesmerized at anatomical fission and fusion
Malodorous soaked sweat-draped dripping bodies
Enclosed, staffed and steam simmering moisture
Equivocal musty air radiated from euphoric entanglement
Perplexed awe mouth agape
Form:
Looking out at the vast empty spaces
The silence allows time to reflect.
Gazing out, there's no one looking back
The calmness in the air has the desired effect.
The trees afar are moving, gently in the breeze
And flowers rustle, with effortless motion.
The calm allows for thought to manifest
Ebbing back and forth like the rhythm of the ocean.
Looking out a haziness drifts in
Encompassing your mind, disturbing your sight.
Darkness and confusion begin to settle
Striving in the empty space to find some light.
Form:
A new fresh linen hangs on my line
I stray from that tasks that generate jaded tears
with my bare toes I trace a fine vine
the taunting that I bear from my peers
Behold your very eyes
the king has come to tide
he looks as if he has come from Bise
the noble horse that he rides
overcomes him and snickers in laughter
Next in the line of overcoming laughter
strides in a jester full of poise
does not ponder of what comes after
streaming unbanned is levity for all the young girls and boys
The final visage that enlightens the venturesome parade
is a conductor with no orchestra in tow
an orchestra in his vast mind, the nonsensical tirade
hitching his fine tailcoats while riding a sow
My eyes waver back from the haziness that there was
it was all a dream
an
Alice
in
Wonderland?
Humming Humbleness
Harmony Heroism
Hustling Hesitancy
Hugging Haziness
Hopeful Hues
Happy Haggles
Howling Hurricanes
Honey Hicks
Hacked Heart
I sit by a tinted window
Trying to clear its haziness
Rubbing my eyes, hoping the world will not look at me in misty eyes
Day upon day I sit at my window's tinted windowsill
Hoping for a new better looking day
My mind is an amalgamation of thoughts
Each fighting for survival
Hungry for their need to be fulfilled
Neither pacing nor calming
I open my tinted window
Hoping the fresh air will lift this heaviness
Of unwanted confusion
Perhaps my perception is what clouds me
From this outside world
Of connected pathways
And waiting choices
Form: